


Stay

by absurdvampmuse



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, feysand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absurdvampmuse/pseuds/absurdvampmuse
Summary: Feyre/Rhysand 1 piece./Set during ACOMAF./It's Calanmai./Feyre woke with a start, eyes wet but heart still intact. “What’s wrong?” he simply inquired, pocketing both of his hands as he took a step towards her in the cool and commanding way that provided her with more comfort than she would ever admit to. It reminded her so much of how and when they had first met during Fire Night./





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to the series or any of the characters. I am merely borrowing them. All I own is my imagination and the laptop I wrote this on.
> 
> A/N: After rereading the entirety of the series again, I needed to get this idea down and paper and out of my head. I hope you'll enjoy reading it. As always, your thoughts would be very much appreciated! As well as any suggestions for stories on here that I have to read! Thank you!

**Stay**

_And then my heart stops, like a beat drop…_

Ever since Feyre's arrival at the Night Court, the days had come and gone, passing at an excruciatingly slow pace in the beginning and moving more quickly as she found her bearings, sometimes too fast now that sorrow and despair no longer had their claws hooked into her permanently. They weren't dragging her under continuously and she no longer had to keep fighting and kicking upwards in order to catch her breath. The days had become more bearable, he had made them more bearable. Always finding her when she was having her hardest moments and making time for her even when all she could manage were short and clipped words. She was healing despite being in  _his home_ , gaining weight and color and sometimes even dared a cautious smile when she thought he wasn't looking. Even though he always was,  _with her_  even when he physically wasn't. And occasionally, she even thought about what colors she would have to blend together to get the shade of his eyes and wings just right.

All of that threatened to come to a screeching halt on the day of Calanmai.

She dreamt of it. The roaring flames of the bonfire, the incessant beating of the drums, the swarms of bodies. Female bodies in her dream, nearly naked with eyes painted in sensuous golden hues and lips in enticing reds. It was as if they were taunting her, looking at her as she pushed her way through. Every now and then a hand would grab a hold of her soft pink dress as if to hold her back, silently telling her that she had no place here. She didn't want to be amongst the throngs of people, but she had to if she wanted to get to him, to Tamlin, before it was too late.

It was the night before their wedding in her dream and she should be excited, but instead panic and dread fluttered through her. When she finally made it to the edge of the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Tamlin and the greens and golds that she would always associate with him. Her eyes caught his as she called out his name. He didn't so much as turn her way as he pressed his face against another female's neck, breathing her in deeply, hands all over her before he finally tugged her towards the cave entrance that beckoned behind them. Her heart shattered soundlessly as moans of ecstasy began filling her ears, louder and louder until she could no longer hold back the tears.

Feyre woke with a start, eyes wet but heart still intact, yet her emotions were all over the place. They were slipping from her too rapidly for her to reel them back in. And with her hand clasped against her chest, she could've sworn that she could still hear and feel the beating of the drums as it synchronized with her frantic heartbeat.

She clambered onto her knees, aware of the shadows from the corners of her eyes as they began to appear in front of the large bed. Rhysand materialized completely, dressed so immaculately that it made her wonder whether she had slept longer than usual. It was a fleeting thought since it didn't really matter. She had nowhere to be, no obligations to fulfill, not until she was ready to.

As Feyre pushed the covers off her completely, the violet in the High Lord's eyes darkened, having already sensed that something had been off with her this morning. Something he hadn't felt radiate from her in a little while. It had made his heart lurch, but he had fought the urge to breach her mental shield and seek for instant answers. "What's wrong?" he simply inquired, pocketing both of his hands as he took a step towards her in the cool and commanding way that provided her with more comfort than she would ever admit to. It reminded her so much of how and when they had first met during Fire Night.

And the part that bewildered her the most was that she wanted to tell him. However, she didn't know what words would come tumbling out, considering her emotions towards him. They were still evolving, and she felt torn right down the middle, yet the pull she had been feeling towards Rhysand had been all that kept her from coming apart at the seams completely. She was grateful, but she owed him nothing. Not her deepest and darkest thoughts, or access to whatever pieces of her heart remained. Nevertheless, she had found herself recently wondering what dark and exotic taste he would leave in her mouth.

Feyre opened her mouth in an attempt to confess to something, but all she could taste was him in her mouth: Tamlin. Combined with the faint smell of smoke in her nose and the feel of his claws scraping against her skin, gently enough at first yet there had also always been a dominating undertone.

"I don't… I can't breathe," was the best she could do. She dropped her hands, her eyes following to the light pink sleep shorts and top, just like in her dreams. A bad omen, a color that she had once begun wearing more and more because she knew Tamlin preferred how it looked on her.

Feyre looked stricken. That was the best Rhysand could do when it came to describing how she looked to him. And all at once she had reverted back to the fractured damsel that had needed him to come and rescue her, give her a way out because she no longer saw one. Tamlin's beauty that the High Lord of the Spring Court had so selfishly wanted to keep from the world. He swallowed down the growl, his anger the last thing Feyre needed since it had been one of her former lover's prominent features. Instead, he remained silent as he cautiously watched her as she fingered the satin-like fabric of her sleep attire and forced herself to take a few deeps breaths.

She scrambled herself together, or as much of herself as she could in the moment. "I'm okay," she said out loud even though she knew that she wasn't fooling the raven-haired High Lord who still stood like a statue at the foot of the bed.

"Are you?"

She saw the doubt and concern that he tried to downplay. Still, she ignored him as she got up from the bed and made her way towards the bathing room.

"Feyre."

The blue-grey of her eyes was muted as she briefly looked his way before shutting the door softly in response.

Feyre only drank tea for breakfast, unable to stomach anything more. Still, it didn't wash away the smoky taste in her mouth.

After lunch she remained in her bedroom, knowing that Rhysand wouldn't breach it unless she gave him permission to or she was in distress, the way she had been this morning. Having her own space was something he valued and didn't consider lightly.

However, when dinner time came around, it was Mor who entered her room without knocking, with a dinner tray in tow. She placed it on the bed, chewing her bottom lip as she considered the other girl for a beat. "If you tell me what's wrong, I could help you. We all would," she gently reminded Feyre that she wasn't alone. "I thought things were, you were getting better," Mor went on when Feyre didn't move to so much as look her way from her spot by the window, purposely having angled the chair so that she was facing the gardens and all of the open space outside.

"It's not something any of you can help me with," Feyre unintentionally snapped, realizing fully well that she was taking out her frustrations on the golden-haired female. She felt momentarily and irrationally envious of the woman's strength, although she felt regret and guilt almost instantly because she knew how much Mor had endured, too much, in order to acquire it. "It's internal," Feyre tried to explain. "And you've, all of you, have already done more than—"

"You're welcome," Mor easily interrupted, adding a comradely smile.

Blue and brown tones briefly connected as Feyre finally acknowledged Mor's presence with a nod of her head. "Thank you. For checking up on me and dinner."

"Rhys would've done it himself but…"

Feyre's eyes turned back to the window as she was at once reminded what tonight was and the sounds, smells, and actions that came with it. She didn't want to think of Rhysand with those intense violet eyes and alluring sensuality, not when it would be on display for everybody and not just her. Not when she could imagine what it would feel like to have his fingers and lips brush against her skin and not when the image was tainted with greens and golds that didn't belong and blood being drawn on her skin by sharp claws, all residue of her dream. "I know he's… busy," she dismissed Mor.

Mor shot her a disconcerted look before giving her a nod and leaving the room.

Feyre picked at her food, eating as much as she could before giving up on the day and night completely, and crawling into bed.

Feyre was stuck in the same dream, the nightmare. Only now Tamlin did choose her, pulling her into the cave with him. But from the primal glow in his eyes and rougher than usual touch, she could tell that he was taken over by the magic, gone to a place where she couldn't reach him. His touches were abrasive, rough and demanding, selfish even. His teeth and claws scraped across her skin, drawing blood whilst ripping apart her dress. She told him to stop, called his name frantically, but the drums were too loud, and he was too strong.

She woke with a scream on her lips, her body jerking upwards as she saw but didn't quite recognize the pair of violet eyes above her, not yet. She pushed Rhysand off whilst scrambling backward, remembering what night it was and how the magic could change people.

"Feyre," he said her name like it was his last breath.

Now fully recognizing him, Feyre still remained where she was, pressed against the headboard. "Are you you?"

Rhysand's brow crinkled in confusion.

"I mean, are you in control of…" She trailed off, shaking her head once. "During the Rite, magic takes over, you lose c—"

Understanding instantaneously shuttered in his eyes. "I'm fully in control. I always am," he cockily added, hoping that it would draw her out of the protective cocoon she was wrapping herself in. "There's no reason to be scared of me."

The both of them realized how ironic it was that he was the one speaking these words to her, considering the act he had put on in the past and how she had felt towards him then. He didn't voice this out loud, smelling the dismay on her and sensing the vulnerability in her shield that was now down completely.

Feyre nodded, yet kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she tried to calm herself down, telling herself that it had just been another dream, set on by this specific night because it reminded her of the feelings she had once cherished for Tamlin, feelings that had been gradually beginning to fade.

Rhysand didn't say anything else to comfort, snapping his fingers together once instead, a black long-sleeved shirt appearing in front of her. He cleared his throat as he flicked his fingers at her, gesturing towards her bare skin. It was only then that Feyre noticed, her anguish wrapping itself even tighter around her. Somewhere, during her nightmare, she had burned off her sleep clothes.

"I didn't do it on purpose," she told him, not daring to look at Rhysand as she grabbed a hold of the shirt, tugging it on as quickly as she could and pulling it down over her knees as far as it would go. If she had dared a glance, she would have seen that Rhysand had respectfully averted his gaze, eyes instead on the forest green sheets that she had kicked aside. Shadows gathered around him as he caught his mistake, green was a color that had no place in his home. Not until she could bring herself to paint again with that particular shade. But when she looked at him again, he made sure to wipe any of this from his expression, the shadows having already dissipated.

"Thank you," she forced out through the hint of ash that still coated the inside of her mouth.

His hands disappeared into his pockets because he could do nothing else with them, nothing productive at least. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Feyre shook her head before the entirety of the question had even managed to come out.

He tilted his head upwards, just enough for the starlight to catch his eyes and be reflected in them. Or maybe it was the sky that reflected the stars in his eyes. It was hard to tell sometimes. "Considering you almost burned my house down, it's the least you owe me."

She narrowed her eyes at him for a few seconds, at the choice of words, though the smugness that was practically dripping off him was enough of a tell that he had chosen the words on purpose, with the intent of sparking a reaction. So, she shrugged, eyes shifting to the window. "It's Calanmai," she said the words as if that were just what they were, holding no meaning at all. But the both of them knew better, he felt it in the air between them and saw it in her eyes when she looked at him once more. "Why are you not out there, taking part in the Rite?"

His eyebrow quirked upwards, amusement pushing the corners of his mouth into the same position as well. "Because I don't need to use a carnal celebration as an excuse to release my inner beast or as a cover for what I am in actuality."

He watched as Feyre curled up into herself even more, pulling her knees as close to her chest as she could as if it could act as a shield from the words, the truths he was spewing at her. "But what about the magic it releases throughout Prythian, so your crops can flourish?"

Her voice was painfully small as she vocalized the question he had already picked from her mind. He hated how fragile she became and how she retreated back into herself whenever she remembered her time at the Spring Court and with  _him_. He merely shrugged up his shoulders. "I'm the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, Feyre darling. I can do whatever I please." He moved so he could sit down at the foot of the bed, mindful of the space between them, especially now that she had so thoughtlessly let her shield down. "So that was what today was about. Tamlin," he accomplished without snarling.

He was patient, hands in his lap as he waited for her to speak.

"When I just arrived there," she began tentatively, "on the night I ran into you…"

Rhysand's eyes glimmered with the memory.

"I was told not to leave the house, nothing more. I didn't listen."

He couldn't help the smile from spilling onto his lips. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"Well, can you blame me? I was in a foreign place with people I didn't fully know or trust." She chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated her choices back then, now. "I ran into Tamlin after he…. After the Rite. But we weren't… together yet. So, it was different then, the feelings I had about that night, about him. And this year, well, I guess it shouldn't matter now, after everything… Still, part of me can't help but wonder if he is out there, participating tonight."

Rhysand ran his hand over the green bedsheets, swallowing before asking her, "What if he is?"

She bit into her bottom lip. "It would be mature of me to simply tell you that since I am the one who sought an escape, a way out from our wedding that he is free to do whatever he wants. As I am." She followed the movements of his hand with her eyes. "But it doesn't work like that. My heart, it's like a vase that was tipped over and I somehow managed to put back together. Yet some pieces will never fit in exactly the same way as they did before. And that is fine, I think," she shared with him honestly and openly. "But today was really hard, harder than I had expected." She inhaled sharply. "I had a dream about how I watched as Tamlin chose somebody else to perform the Rite with, somebody who wasn't me. And then in the next dream, he did choose me, but he wasn't the person I had come to know."

"He's not, is he," he merely stated, eyes on the sheets as he crumpled up the fabric between his fingers. "I'll have another set of sheets put on your bed tomorrow." Another color was what he meant.

The color of her eyes momentarily dimmed as his words hit the nerve that was exposed, but he didn't give her the chance to falter as he picked up where he had left off. "Just like you are different. It will take time, Feyre, to heal absolutely."

"Still, there will always be that piece, won't there, that will be missing in memory of him."

"Most likely, yes."

"Will it get easier, with the passing of time?"

"Ah, you seem to forget that I am the one who always does the breaking of hearts, so I would have no true experience as such."

Feyre couldn't help but roll her eyes at his remark, the desired effect since he was looking to lighten the mood. "Glad you've affirmed that it's not your modesty that attracts the opposite sex."

He wet his bottom lip with his tongue. "Well, then it is unequivocally my beauteous appearance that has them fawning all over me."

She snorted yet her words were remarkably genuine as she muttered softly, "Among other things."

Rhysand raised both his head and eyes upwards as her words snagged his attention. "Will you tell what they are one day?"

She granted him a single nod before he got up from the bed.

"Thank you," she acknowledged. "I've been difficult today and—"

"The day has been hard on you," Rhysand corrected smoothly.

When he turned to leave the room and her alone, something within her balked at it. He had been a welcoming distraction, a willing sparring partner. "Rhys," she said his name before she could change her mind and bite her tongue like she had used to do with Tamlin.

Rhysand paused on the threshold.

"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all day," Feyre hastily added, slightly embarrassed at her admission, especially since it hadn't been because of the lack of food that had been offered to her throughout the day.

The High Lord of the Night Court turned his body towards her once more, eyes aglow as he held out his hand to her, palm upwards. "I think I may have some of your favorites in the kitchen."

"How?"

He touched the fingers of his other hand to his head whilst wiggling the fingers of the hand he still held up, waiting for her. "As well as by being incredibly attentive, of course."

Feyre got up, paying no mind to how much of her legs were on display or that she was clad in fabric that smelled of him. "You're gracious," she shared spontaneously with him while placing her hand in his, reminding him through their mental bond of the request he had voiced out loud to her mere minutes ago.

He bowed his head and brushed his lips against her knuckles before twining his fingers with hers. "And you are valiant, my Feyre darling."

She let him pull her towards the door and over the threshold, his grip considerate as he guided her into the hallway and down to the kitchen. Along the way, Feyre tightened her hold on him, no longer hearing the drums or tasting the smoke. Instead, another scent and flavor encased her, dark chocolate and starfruit, both belonging irrevocably to him. And she wondered if he had lowered his walls purposely, so he could drive away any impressions of her dream and of Tamlin. In comfort, in support. And if he had bought her favorite foods in preparation for today because somehow, he had remembered what today was and what it had once meant to her.

So, she made the active decision to change the memory right there and then. "It's the night we met," she whispered, aware of how he now stood as still as she did. "The start of…" She didn't know what words she was looking for, how to define whatever was between them. Not yet. Suddenly doubt crashed over her like a wave, weighing her down and pinning her beneath it. "You're not lying about not participating in the Rite, are you? For my benefit?"

Rhysand watched her practically visibly flinch at the questions and the hurt that he wondered about. He took a step closer. "Would it bother you if I had taken a maiden into the woods and ravished her?"

It was meant as a joke, but also to gauge her reaction. It was a step too far. He had known it when he had thought the words. She confirmed it when she pulled her hand from his. Yet he simply closed the distance between them as much as she would let him and reached for her hand again, pressing it to his chest. "I apologize. That was tasteless of me. Thoughtless." He swallowed before continuing. "I haven't been with anyone since Ama... her." He couldn't say her name out loud, not in his own home. "Under the Mountain, I had this fear that there would be a day where she would ask me to show her my wings and that she would—"

The look in Rhysand's eyes was haunted and it caused Feyre to ache from within. So, she did the only thing she could think of and touched the fingers of her other hand to his jaw. "You survived," she reminded him firmly. "She's not here. Nor will she ever be. This is your home. You're safe."

_As are you_ were the words that he flung at her through the bond, like it was second nature, right before she could put her walls back up.

He let her go before she had to indicate it to him, turning towards the counter on which he had already laid out different containers of food. Like he had expected this. She handed him a plate and they began opening up the containers, putting food on their plates.

"Do you… can I take a closer look at your wings?" Feyre finally dared, her back to Rhysand as he sat down at the table while she began closing some of the containers just to buy herself a little more time.

"Considering how you've already shown me every bare inch of your skin, I'd say that's a fair trade," Rhysand spoke, Feyre catching the smile before he closed his lips over the fork.

She gave his shoulder a shove before sitting down across from him. As she began eating, Rhysand sat back for a moment to simply take her in, noting the comfort that now eased her limbs and how she had once again forgotten to put her wall up.

_Around him_.

It meant something.

After everything.

"And for desert you get to choose between chocolate or starfruit, was it?" Rhysand couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Feyre's face flushed, refusing to look at him as she continued eating.

And Rhysand laughed.

And her heart stopped for a few seconds, the way his had when she had come alive again.

_In his home._

_With him._

 


End file.
